


Cast Iron Witch

by readinglovestories



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, M/M, Witch!Laurent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18564451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readinglovestories/pseuds/readinglovestories
Summary: The Cast Iron Witch. That was the name of the legend. People didn’t know if it was a woman or a man – if it was even human. Some people claimed it was one of the Sidhe, exiled from their people. Others were certain the Witch wasn’t alive, but a ghost helping those its restless spirit could help and taking vengeance on people it deemed unjust. The people who went to the Witch came back refusing to talk about it. That was, if they came back at all. You might understand the fear and the dread of the city of Ios when the Witch climbed out of its wagon one day and bought one of the houses right at the cliffs. The creature was settling down. And even in the heat of summer the people who heard about it suddenly felt cold.





	1. Chapter 1

The Cast Iron Witch. That was the name of the legend. People didn’t know if it was a woman or a man – if it was even human. Some people claimed it was one of the Sidhe, exiled from their people. Others were certain the Witch wasn’t alive, but a ghost helping those its restless spirit could help and taking vengeance on people it deemed unjust. The people who went to the Witch came back refusing to talk about it. That was, if they came back at all. It was wandering around, living in a small wagon carried by two black horses. Some people said the animals had glowing red eyes and when they looked at you, it was a bad sign. Even people in desperate need of the Witch’s help – a potion against a harsh cough or a spell to ward off ghosts – sighed a breath of relief when it was gone again.

 

You might understand the fear and the dread of the city of Ios when the Witch climbed out of its wagon one day and bought one of the houses right at the cliffs. The creature was settling down. And even in the heat of summer the people who heard about it suddenly felt cold.

 

\---

 

“Why did you say we were going there?” Nikandros asked when they reached the garden.

 

“I’m going to ask the Witch to leave,” Damen replied with all the excessive confidence of royalty. “This ends today.”

 

You had to be good friends with the Prince to see what was really going on. Damianos was afraid and downright desperate. They hadn’t had rain in over two months. The crops died on the fields. Even goats were starving. Old people and small children collapsed because of the heat and filled the healing temples with their cool stone halls. People blamed the Witch. It was only natural. After their first reluctance to welcome their strange new neighbour, they had spiralled into open hostility. A week ago, a small group of men had gone to the house at the cliffs to burn it down together with its owner. Nobody had returned.

 

People were moving away. And those who stayed started to antagonize Damen’s father for his lack of action. The King took it. He was working on trading routes and new alliances from early in the morning until late at night every day just to make sure his people would make it through Winter. He was, perhaps, too old to understand how much people needed a strong leader instead of a wise one right now.

 

Damen reached the house’s wooden fence. A small trail was leading from the gate through a meticulously neat garden. As soon as he stepped onto the path, it was as if he stepped from Summer into Fall. It wasn’t cold, but enough to make Damen shudder. When he turned around with a frown, Nikandros was gone. Damen wanted to get back outside, but he couldn’t move towards the gate, not even a single step.

 

With his heart beating fast, he looked back at the path leading to the house. He pulled his sword and took a step, then another, marching forward in the only direction he was able to.

 

He didn’t see the Witch. He just heard something behind him when he was just a few feet away from the house and when he turned, it stepped onto the path from the garden. Damen could have sworn there hadn’t been anyone there a moment ago.

 

Much to his surprise, it was a young man. He appeared not much older than twenty. Damen wondered how people would have mistaken him for a woman. He wasn’t small and while he was lean, his shoulders were strong. Maybe it was the elegance of his face or his hair that was braided on one side of his head and fell in big blonde curls almost to his elbows on the other. He was by far the most spectacular person Damen had ever seen. Maybe the stories were true. Maybe he was one of the Sidhe.

 

“The Prince of Akielos. Here at my house,” the Witch said, slipping out of his gardening gloves. They must have been made from rich dark leather. The color and beauty still showed in some patches, even though they were worn down and almost grey in most parts. “What brings you here?”

 

Damianos suddenly felt conscious of his sword. His senses tingled. He didn’t want to lower it but forced himself to. “My friend came with me. What did you do to him?”

 

The Witch’s eyebrows rose. They were as pale as his hair, as his lashes. His entire face looked like the color had drained from it. “I didn’t do anything to him. If the garden didn’t let him in, there has to be a reason.”

 

Damen scoffed. “The same reason I couldn’t get back out?”

 

The surprise on the Witch’s face drained away. He was thinking. Then he frowned. “You should come inside.”

 

“I don’t think so.” Damen swallowed. “I came here for a reason. Whatever the reason you cursed my country, it’s time to stop. I want you to lift your spell. And I want you to leave, Witch.”

 

A flash of anger in those blue eyes. Damen felt an energy surround him, like the cold turned physical and pressed against his skin. The Witch let out a shaky breath and the cold pulled back. The Witch lifted a piece of cloth from the ground and handed it to Damen. “Your father is dying. These herbs need to dry for six days, no more and no less. The tea brewed from it will save the King’s life if he survives that long.”

 

It felt like a threat. Damen took a step toward the Witch, the grip on his sword now tight again. “What did you do to him?”

 

“How easy it must be.” The Witch lifted his chin. Cast Iron. That’s what they called him. Damen thought of him more like glass. Or ice. Translucent and cold. “To live in a world where you believe in a reflection as if it’s the truth.”

 

“If he dies…” Damen’s voice is quiet.

 

“I didn’t poison your father, nor did I put a spell on your city,” the man said and held out his bundle of herbs once more. Damen took it. “I wish my garden wouldn’t have let you in. Alas, you may come back once this is over – one way or another. The gate will open for you.”

 

The Witch might as well have spoken a different language.

 

“If I believe you,” Damen said, cradling the herbs close, “why haven’t you come to me? Why haven’t you told me, so I could have done something earlier?”

 

The Witch dropped his gaze for a moment. “I don’t choose to know things. I sometimes just do. And I think…”

 

He stopped, the frown back on his face. Damen was waiting for a moment, but the Witch seemed to just shake off his thought and when he looked up again, he didn’t continue. There was just a thrumming of energy around them and the feeling of something important left unspoken.

 

“Will you let me leave?” Damen asked. This place was grinding him down. “To help my father?”

 

“It wasn’t me who kept you,” the Witch said and motioned towards the path. “But maybe keeping you was a lesson for me, not you. So try.”

 

Damen shook his head in disbelief and turned around. He took a step towards the gate, then another. It was working. When he reached the fence, he simply took another step and Nikandros disappeared out of nowhere.

 

“Will we go in now?” Nikandros asked like nothing at all had happened.

 

“But I…” Damen looked at his friend, then back at the house. The Witch was nowhere to be seen. “I went in there. You were gone. I couldn’t leave. I talked to the Witch…”

 

Nikandros didn’t believe him and was ready to protest when Damen lifted the bundle of herbs. They both stared at it like it was unreal.

 

“We need to hurry,” Damen told Nikandros. “I will tell you everything on the way.”

 

\---

 

Laurent watched the Prince leave. “You can’t be serious.”

 

The energy around him thrummed back. It had a way of letting him know what it meant and how it wanted to be used.

 

Laurent sighed at the clear message the magic sent him now. “Of all people? And then they tell me I’m the one cursing people, when clearly I’m the one being cursed.”

 

Magic was a peculiar thing. Its streams had a way of choosing its vessels like a river its bed. Two rivers would never be able to run in one bed unless they became one. But very clearly, Laurent’s magic – his garden, his cold, even the time he was able to make his own – had nudged the Prince of Ios in a direction and held him wrapped up in its power.  

 

Laurent didn’t understand why Damianos was meant for this path. But he would find out soon. He just wondered if the Prince would come back as an ally or an enemy.

 

One way or another, Laurent had come to Ios to set things right. Whatever would happen – he was prepared.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read and commented last chapter! I love you all very much for taking the time and doing that.

Damen's hands were shaking as he cut up the herbs the Witch had given him. The room was closing in on him. His father was hanging by a thread. The King's health had steadily dwindled, and no physician was able to help. Damen had been furious at first. It was easier than accepting how helpless he was. Everyone was convinced that it was the Witch who had poisoned the King and Damen had kept the secret herbs to himself for that reason. People were blind in their hatred and fear and even Damen found himself wondering if he was naive. Maybe giving him an apparent cure was a distraction to keep Damen from going back to the garden. Only that something told him that this wasn't the case.

Damen's servants were preparing a pot of water to boil over the fire that made his chambers even more unbearable than the Summer heat. He didn't notice when they froze and stood up straight, bowing their heads. Only when his brother's voice startled him did Damen turn around.

"Kastor," he said, "it's good you're here. I'm almost done. I know how to help Father."

Kastor's eyes were cold, hard as stone. "I knew that there was something going on. But I didn't expect to catch you red-handed."

"What?" Damen shook his head. "Are you not listening? I have a cure."

"Our father is dead."

Just like that. One sentence and Damen's world crumbled.

"No, I..." Damen looked at the Witch's herbs on the table. The only sound in the room was the boiling water. This couldn't be. Not this close to salvation. "This isn't happening..."

"Who else was helping you aside from your servants?" Kastor took a step closer towards him.

"Helping me?" Damen's brain tried to make sense of it all, but it was impossible. "Nobody was helping... The Witch gave me a cure. I was so close..."

Kastor turned his head and nodded at Antero, the Captain of his personal guard. Antero turned and left the room. Kastor stared at the boiling pot for a long moment before looking at Damen again. "Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything," Damen said and shook his head. "I-"

"You don't have to say it," Kastor interrupted him. "You'll be given a fair trial at the Kingsmeet. You can explain yourself there."

"Trial?" Damen's eyes widened when soldiers flooded the room. His servants started crying when they were shoved to the ground. He tried to get to them, but Antero himself reached for him, together with three other soldiers. It was a mix of shock and grief that kept him from fighting. He did struggle, but not for long before they had him and shackles and pushed him down on his knees. He was panting as he looked up at Kastor.

"Damianos of Akielos, you stand accused of Treason. Colluding with the enemy. Regicide. And Patricide. You will be kept confined to a cell until your trial." Kastor's lips pressed into a thin line. Then he spoke to Antero. "Get him out of my sight."

\---

They dragged him out of the room, through the hallways of the royal palace and across two courtyards before they made their way down to the dungeon. Damen couldn't read their expression. It was something between disgust and fear. The confusion about what happened kept him calm until the door of his cell slammed shut and he was alone. Then he suddenly surged forward and hammered against the darkened wood. "Let me out of here! I didn't do it! Can anyone hear me? I'm innocent!"

Nobody answered. Nobody came. And when Damen was weeping for his father and for the injustice of it all, he knew that no one was going to hear him.

\---

Three weeks he spent in his cell. Every morning Antero brought him a pitcher with fresh water and a bowl of porridge. Damen tried to talk to him, to explain, to ask for Kastor. But his brother's Captain remained silent. At some point, Damen just gave up. They had to give him a trial – Kastor even said that – and surely there the judges would see that it was all a mistake. He'd leave the Kingsmeet without shackles.

And as a King, Damen realized.

He didn't want this. Not yet. There were so many thing his father hadn't taught him yet, that he didn't understand. He had been prepared his entire life for this role, but not like this. His father was supposed to retire and then help him navigate the stormy waters of politics for a long time. This was wrong.

Damen hated this situation, but he had accepted it. Because not even for a second did he believe that they would find him guilty of murdering his own father. He only understood when a crunching sound woke him in the middle of the night. The door to his cell swung open, the lock loosened and hanging out of its hole lopsidedly. Damen scrambled out of bed and stood up straight when he realized who had just entered his cell.

"Nikandros... What are you doing?"

"Getting you out of here," Nikandros said quietly. "Come on. We don't have much time."

"No." Instead of taking a step towards his friend, Damen took a step back. "If I run away now, they'll think I'm guilty."

"They already think you're guilty," Nikandros snapped at him. "They tried one of your servants. She was set free after selling you out. She told them that you had been mixing poison into your father's food for days, that it's a plan the Witch came up with and that it put a spell on you to seduce you."

"But that's ridiculous!" Nikandros' eyes widened when Damen raised his voice so he immediately lowered it. "It's ridiculous. I didn't kill my father. I tried to save him."

"I know," Nikandros said. "That's why I'm getting you out of here. If they put you on trial, they'll execute. You won't survive this week."

"I'm not a traitor," Damen growled. "And I won't run away like a fugitive."

Nikandros closed the distance between them and put his hands on Damen's shoulder. "I love you like a brother, Damen. You're my best friend and I would do anything for you. But don't ask me to sit and watch you getting killed over your pride. I know you're trying to protect your honor. But I've been fighting this war for you for weeks and there is no point. If you stay, you will die."

Damen knew Nikandros. They were raised together, shared the same values. If his friend wanted him to leave instead of doing the right thing, the situation was dire.

With a small nod, Damen agreed and quietly he followed Nikandros out into the night. They knew their way around the city, but it still wasn't easy to get out undetected. Damen was concerned about it until he realized that his escape was planned thoroughly. Soldiers had been bribed, horses prepared. The men who let them out of the city bowed in front of him. They believed in him. Damen's heart ached because of it. Outside the city, Damen looked at the cliffs of Ios on one side and the vast fields around the city on the other and he felt smaller and younger than ever before. "Where will I even go?"

Nikandros dropped his gaze. It didn't bode well. "His garden can protect you. Shield you. He has worked his magic on you before."

A shiver ran down Damen's spine. "The Witch? You can't be serious."

"I am. Also because you have to warn him. Your brother will come after him as well," Nikandros said.

Damen couldn't help feeling ashamed. Not once had he thought about the Witch and how Damen's own fate was linked to him. If Damen was found guilty, the sentence declared the Witch a murderer. "What about you? They'll question the guards. They'll find out the truth."

"They won't," Nikandros said with confidence. "Not with the men I chose to help. Don't worry about me. I will find a way to let you know about the developments in Ios. And when you return, I'll be the one to welcome you home as my King."

Damen pressed his forehead against his friend's and closed his eyes. "Thank you. For everything."

"Go now," Nikandros said, his voice choked up. "Make sure you don't get caught."

Damen got up on his horse and the animal whinnied beneath him. It felt the tension. Damen nodded at his friend once more before spurring the horse on, riding hard and fast, the city in his back and an unknown future in front of him.

\---

Laurent startled awake. He felt hot – which hardly ever happened. The magic was buzzing around him. A storm was coming.


	3. Chapter 3

Damen reached the fence just shy of dawn. The road down to the cottage would have been a faster, but way more dangerous option. Instead Daman had led his horse into the cover of the woods, riding for hours only to come up to the cottage from the other side. He was exhausted by the time he reached it and emotionally drained.

 

There hadn’t been a time in his life when he had felt this lost. Leaving this cell and a chance for a fair trial behind was going up against everything Damen believed in and everything he wanted to stand for as a King. What did it say about him? That this was how his regency started?

 

A part of him still wanted to go back. His brother had to be blind from anger and grief, but Kastor had to listen to him at some point. And if he would just let Damen explain, he would see that it made no sense to blame him. Damen had more love and respect for their father than anyone else.

 

It was the urgency in Nik’s voice alone that kept him set on his path. It felt like there were other things going on, a bigger picture Damen wasn’t able to see.

 

He was ready to open the small gate to the Witch’s garden when it flew open. Wide, blue eyes stared up at Damen and he didn’t have time to ask, before he was pulled into the garden, the gate closing behind him.

 

It was so different from the last time Damen had seen the garden and not just because the waning coat of night tinted everything in pale blues, purples and greyish greens. What had been a garden of herbs and flowers was now…

 

“This is a wall…” Damen said in disbelief as the Witch dragged him along. Damen looked over his shoulders and thick bushes of roses and thorns closed behind him. “What is going on?”

 

“We have to get to the house,” the Witch just said, trying to get Damen to move faster. “The garden is on alert.”

 

“The garden?” Damen asked, not even expecting an answer.

 

And really, he didn’t get one. They ran up the path to the cottage and left the horse outside before they entered. The cottage was different than what Damen had expected. Instead of a Witch’s den with spiderwebs dark wood, he found an open room, illuminated by a fire next to a big table that seemed to be both kitchen table and working space. The walls were chalk white and there were pots with plants and herbs at every window. It looked… Peaceful.

 

The Witch was the only thing disrupting that image. He locked the door behind them and frantically pulled away the blue carpet covering most of the wooden floor.

 

“Light some candles,” he told Damen, pointing to a small stash on the table. “Seven of them.”

 

Damen did as he was told, still wondering what was going on, even though he didn’t ask again. He watched the Witch draw a big circle on the wooden floor and scribbling strange symbols all around it, all of it with a piece of coal.

 

“Sage,” the Witch mumbled, throwing away the coal. “Sage and thyme and… lavender?”

 

It looked like he was asking someone, and he looked pleased when it appeared to be the right answer. He was reaching for pots, pulling out herbs and burning them. Damen was standing next to seven his seven lit candles. “What about these?”

 

The Witch looked up as if remembering there was someone else in the room.

 

“Good,” he said and grabbed the candles, positioning them outside his circle. Then he took a deep breath and looked up at Damen. “Don’t break the circle. If I don’t wake up, use this.”

 

He shoved a blue, crystal vial into Damen’s hands. “Don’t wake up? What?”

 

“Not before noon, though,” the Witch said, once again without explanation. “Now sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

 

Damen laughed. “Me? Making you nervous?”

 

The Witch glared and Damen shook his head but sat down. It was the first time he felt the tension in the room. It was the same chill that had hung in the air the first time around, but it felt alive with energy. And it got more intense when the Witch sat down in the middle of the circle and closed his eyes. He started to mumble something in a language Damen didn’t understand.

 

The entire cottage started to rattle and moan.

 

“What are you doing?” Damen asked, his heart beating fast. “What’s going on?”

 

The Witch didn’t react. He just kept mumbling and suddenly the room turned brighter, not with dawn, but with the light of flames. Damen walked to the window, looking outside. Blue flames surrounded the entire cottage. They were licking away at the thorn bushes, as high as trees. His horse screamed outside, but a feeling inside of him told him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to be afraid. There was no heat rising. Instead, it got colder.

 

Damen’s breath formed dark clouds in front of his face. There hadn’t been many nights in Ios cold enough for that to happen. Damen shivered and hugged his own chest. The Witch kept mumbling. The energy around them shifted once again. It had been building up, now it suddenly stood still.

 

The Witch opened his eyes, panting. He looked up at Damen with a small smile, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell sideways, knocking over one of the candles. Damen cursed and quickly righted it before stepping into the circle, careful not to break it. He pulled the Witch into his arms and gently tapped his cheeks, but he was out cold. Damen swallowed hard and looked around. There was no bed in the room, but a door aside from the one they came in through.

 

Damen lifted the Witch into his arms and made his way across the kitchen. His breathing was shallow and his skin clammy. Damen tried not to worry. Hadn’t the Witch predicted this?

 

As he had suspected, the door led to a small bedroom and Damen frowned when he saw it. There was one master bed that matched the design of the entire cottage. It was made from washed out wood, almost grey from age. But there was a second bed standing in the corner and it was new. The smell of it lingered in the entire room. Like the Witch had been prepared for him to come.

 

Damen carefully lowered him down on the bed and there was a short moment of pure panic when Damen thought the Witch had stopped breathing. He held his hand under his nose, relieved when he felt him exhale.

 

“What did you do?” he asked quietly and looked outside the window again. The blue flames were still dancing and they kept doing so when the sun came up. The fire burned, Damen watched and paced and waited for the Witch to wake up. He didn’t.

 

When the sun stood high in the sky and Damen took out the vial and stared at the potion in it. He had no idea how to use it. Would a drop be enough? Was the Witch just supposed to smell it? What if he didn’t give him enough or – worse – too much? Laurent felt another surge of panic when the energy around him pressed in. He felt icy cold for a moment and then he just knew.

 

“Huh,” Damen said and then grabbed a glass of water. He added three drops of the potion and returned to the Witch on the bed. Carefully, Damen lifted him into his arms, tilting back his head. Just as he was about to let the water dribble between his lips, the Witch gasped for air, letting his breath out in stutters and then stopped breathing completely.


	4. Chapter 4

Panic is usually something you can only afford when you have time which isn't the case when someone isn't breathing. Damen wasn't frantically shaking the Witch, even though he tapped his cheek lightly to see if he would suck in another breath. When that didn't happen, he let a few drops of the potion dribble between his lips, watched half of it spill and cursed quietly before the entire energy in the room shifted. 

 

It wasn't subtle. The cold pulled back, gathering itself before it slammed into Damen with a physical force. The energy didn't go through him. It went insidehim. Damen stumbled back, the Witch falling from his arms. it felt like jumping into ice cold water, submerged by it and unable to break the surface again. Damen shivered violently and blinked frantically against the nausea. 

 

Cold is a funny thing. When it gets bad enough, it feels like heat. 

 

Damen felt like he was burning and he screamed in agony, dropping to his knees. There was no thought aside from the pain that grew worse and worse until Damen couldn't think of it as something inflicted on him. It became simply part of him, impossible to struggle against. Damen didn't willingly give up. It was just that he didn't have a choice. Hunched over, on all fours, panting and with tears in his eyes, he just couldn't remain himself. The person he was dissolved into complete resignation. That's when the cold stopped. 

 

With a low grunt, Damen straightened up, still on his knees but no longer unable to keep himself up. The biting sting of his pain stopped, turned first into a chill, then warmer still until he felt more feverish than freezing. And just like before, he suddenly just knew what to do. 

 

Stumbling back to the bad, Damen gathered the Witch back into his arms and closed his eyes. The heat that was pooling in his chest and his stomach was rising and when he released it, it became visible for him. Golden orange light streamed down his arms into his hands, his fingers that carefully searched the Witch's skin. 

 

In the few minutes Damen had struggled, the Witch's lips had turned blue, his skin just as pale but now with sick tint to it. His lips were still wet from the potion and slightly parted. For a long moment, nothing happened except that Damen knew that if anything would help, this would be it. And then, finally, the man in his arm dragged in a breath of air. His chest was rising with it and fell with a low groan. Damen watched the Witch's face and how his features regained their freshness. His lips turned rosy again and Damen smiled when his eyes blinked open. 

 

The Witch's frown turned into an expression of delight, albeit he still looked weak. "You did it." 

 

"I wish I knew what exactly I did," Damen replied quietly and helped the Witch sit back against the headrest of his bed as he started to struggle with it. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

 

The Witch looked out the window where the flames were still burning bright. "I think I was dead for a moment. But things are good now. Thank you, Damianos Exalted. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to." 

 

The title rang wrong in his ears and it triggered a wave of emotions in Damen. His chest felt tight, the panic rising now that there was enough time for it. "What is wrong with you? How can you be this calm? You weren't breathing! I was sure I'd lost you!" 

 

"Lost me?" the Witch tilted his head. "It was a risk, but the magic takes care of us." 

 

"What?" 

 

"You'll see," the Witch said and with a sigh, he shifted, sinking down against his pillow. "You'll see and you understand." 

 

Damen protested when the other man closed his eyes. "Are you really going to sleep now?" 

 

He didn't get a reply. There were just soft sleeping noises coming from the Witch and Damen, who was too confused to think about sleep. The energy he had felt inside of him was gone and left him with many questions of answers. The flames outside were still burning. His father was dead...

 

Damen's mind stumbled over this thought as if it had to wait for his heart to catch up. Once it did, it felt almost as bad as the cold from earlier biting into his muscles. Damen, barely older than twenty-six, was unaccustomed to grief, but he started to understand why people wailed at the tombs of their loved ones. This wasn't just a feeling, it was a beast trying to eat him whole. 

 

 

This was in the end the thing that forced him to drag himself to the small bed in the corner of the room. Sleep seemed to be the only answer for his spirraling thoughts. 

 

***

 

When Laurent rose, he was careful not to make a sound. The Prince was fast asleep. Laurent could only vaguely remember what working magic had felt like for the very first time and he had only forced a flower bud to burst open into bloom. Auguste had teased him relentlessly for sleeping for almost an entire day. Damen had done so much more than that. 

 

Quietly, Laurent snuck out the room and grabbed a knife from the table. He knelt down in front of his circle and mumbled a quick command before cutting his finger and dragging his blood through the coal circle. As soon as it broke, the flames outside died and Laurent felt the familiar tingle of his magic surrounding him. 

 

"It was risky, to rely on him like that," Laurent said and the magic responded, twirling around him in amusement. Laurent just rolled his eyes. He didn't like it when he doubted and the magic turned out to be right in the end. 

 

The candles in the room were all burned down and Laurent grabbed some sage to light it at the fireplace. He put it into an iron bowl and let it fume before he opened the door to his cottage. He crossed his garden, now back to normal. Everything seemed like it was meant to be until Laurent opened the front gate. 

 

Outside his garden, the yellow fields between his cottage and the city were nothing but charred land. Smoke was trailing up in the air, undisturbed on the windless day. Laurent's heart broke. The people from Akielos had already gone hungry from the draught. Whatever had been left on the fields was now burned down and this time, it was his fault indeed. 

 

"There was no other way?" Laurent asked and this time, the magic replied with comfort and sympathy. Laurent knew the answer to his own question. He had used soul fire and only burned the soil his enemy had walked upon. Kastor had sent out an entire regiment and they had made it right up to his gates. 

 

Laurent's eyes wandered to Ios. The city stood proud, but it wouldn't for much longer if they couldn't put an end to all of this. At the same time, things would become so much harder. Kastor wouldn't give up. He would use the burned up land to rile up Damen's people against him and against the evil Witch living at the cottage. Humans were like that. The soul fire had been fed with his life force, the magic of his very core. It had drained him and hiding the cottage from view was impossible in his current state. Summoning another fire was out of the question. They would have to leave, soon. And figure out a plan. Otherwise Laurent, Damen, Ios and everything Laurent still held dear, would fall.

 


End file.
